


Blood

by Fierceawakening



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: BDSM, Bloodplay, Gore, M/M, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 11:47:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3691116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fierceawakening/pseuds/Fierceawakening
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by a thread on Tumblr in response to <a href="http://spheen.tumblr.com/post/115211067084/fierceawakening-justonelittlepeek">this bloody/gory Megatron fanart</a> by <a href="http://spheen.tumblr.com">spheen</a>. The Decepticons keep a vat of human blood for various nefarious uses. Skywarp pranks Starscream by shoving him in. Blood-covered Starscream decides to go yell at Megatron. Who decides Starscream is hot as hell covered in blood. And shenanigans ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood

Starscream marched into the room, his heels clacking against the floor. He held his wings straight out behind him. Their tips quivered. His optics flared, red-bright, and his lip plates curled as though he tasted bitter energon.

Megatron could guess why. Starscream's entire frame, wingtip to thruster-heel, was covered in human blood. It dripped down his white, polished leg plates and left red smears on the floor tiles.

Megatron smiled and licked his fangs. Starscream had always looked fetching covered in his enemies' fluids. Human blood wasn't quite as striking as Cybertronian energon -- it didn't glow. And it smelled odd, the familiar metallic tang mixed with something heavy and unmistakably organic. But it was familiar enough.

Had Starscream gone out killing humans? Their last battle had happened a week ago, and humans without Autobots to protect them usually fled. Difficult to kill enough at once to spatter one's whole frame like that, unless you cornered, or captured, quite a few of them.

And the last batch of humans the Decepticons had caught were dead or hoped to be. The pranksters in Megatron's army had suggested rounding them up, tossing them into a vat, and crushing them to use their blood for pigment in paint or seasoning in high-grade fuel.

Megatron snickered. He’d ultimately decided not to stop them from doing it. This war had gone on far too long, and any morale boost was a worthwhile one.

Starscream’s wings flicked again and his engines growled. He must have heard Megatron snicker.

Megatron narrowed his optics at Starscream, peered again at the red riot of human blood spattering Starscream’s helm, cockpit glass, and frame. He thought of the vat, big enough to hold a few Decepticons. Had that blood -- ?

Starscream stopped just in front of Megatron’s throne. His optics gleamed, crimson with rage, and his wings trembled. That strange, alien smell filled Megatron’s olfactory sensors again and he couldn’t help but imagine Starscream on the battlefield, his wings fanned out behind him and his null rays bright with energy as he moved through burning metal and charred alien flesh.

"Your vat,” Starscream said, spitting every syllable. “Skywarp pushed me in."

Megatron smirked and looked up at him. “Then it seems your problem is with Skywarp. Not with me.”

The turbines on Starscream’s chest whirled. Megatron ignored them and stared at a streak of red running down Starscream’s cockpit glass.

“You’re the one who decided to collect humans.” Starscream gestured with a bloody hand. Megatron imagined licking his fingers.

It would quiet him down, at least.

But Starscream hadn’t finished ranting. “You’re the one who decided to add this stuff --” he gestured again -- “to your paint. To flavor some of the high grade with it. Really, Megatron, I thought you were foolish before, but now I’m beginning to think you’ve been touched by the space madness.”

Megatron rose to his feet -- too quickly for Starscream, who stepped back, his optics wide. he reached out to grab at one of Starscream’s wings and clenched tight.

“Starscream,” he said, “be quiet.”

Long centuries with Megatron had taught Starscream to be still when Megatron wrapped his claws around one of Starscream’s wings. He froze, narrowed his optics, and vented ragged air.

Megatron tightened his grip on the thin metal. The blood felt foreign -- almost like energon, but thicker and sticky.

Not as pleasant as catching Starscream fresh from maiming Autobots. But it would do. And his claws pierced plating easily enough. He’d probably drawn some of Starscream’s energon already, if the way Starscream’s wing twitched in his grip was any indication.

He wanted to lick his lips again. He wanted to lick the punctures his claws had made in Starscream’s wings and taste the mixture of Starscream’s fluids with the strange human ones. To feel the odd, half-familiar and half-alien liquid on his lip plates and tongue. But he had a point to make first.

“Humans are the closest thing this planet has to intelligent life,” he said carefully. He curled his claws deeper into Starscream’s wing again. “And we have been on this planet for far longer than we hoped. Why not celebrate our victories over it?”

Starscream hissed, a low sound over the whir of his turbines. “Oh, yes, that’s right. You and your cronies in the gladiator pits used to paint yourselves with your enemies’ energon. I’d almost forgotten.”

“Forgotten, Starscream? You act as though I’ve never tasted yours.”

“You’re putting this… human fluid into the high grade. I don’t even want to guess what that will do to our systems.”

Megatron leaned closer, his lip plates almost touching Starscream’s audio receptors. The mixed scent of iron and flesh made him purr again. “And I thought Thundercracker was the fastidious one.”

He lowered his head to Starscream’s neck and licked at the blood on the cabling there. Starscream yelped in surprise, but his fans whirred.

“You see?” Megatron murmured.

“I still don’t -- ah!”

His complaint became a sharp cry of surprise as Megatron bit into the cabling under his fangs. Warm energon filled his mouth, flowed over his lip plates, his fangs, his chin.

That warmth he knew. He narrowed his optics and sighed.

Starscream froze as the fangs pierced him and then relaxed. Megatron licked at the wound and he sighed, soothed for the moment.

Megatron’s free hand wrapped around Starscream’s back to grip tight at his wing joint.

“Not so bad, is it, Starscream?”

He opened the hand that held Starscream’s wing. His grip had dented it, and he could feel the creased metal against his fingertips. He curled his claws inward and dragged them down in a sharp, swift motion.

Starscream threw back his head and howled again. Megatron lapped at the wound and then slid his head down to lap at the blood the dead humans had left there.

Starscream whined, bereft. No doubt he wanted Megatron tasting his energon instead.

Megatron chuckled. He drew his hands back, slow and careful, and pulled his head away to look at Starscream.

The Seeker’s optics were narrow and red-bright, his dusky lip plates curled and wary. He looked about to hiss, or curse, or spit sparks at Megatron for daring to pull away from him.

Perfect.

Megatron kicked out with one leg, sweeping out at Starscream’s shins. The Seeker cried out once, startled, and crashed to the floor in front of Megatron with a loud thud. He snarled in pain, a hissing shriek.

Megatron pounced.

Starscream thrashed under him, startled or angry or both. He balled his hands into fists and drove them hard into Starscream's wings.

"Settle down," he growled. The wings under his hands pressed back against him for a moment. Then they stilled.

But Starscream wasn't finished yet, it seemed. Hands wrapped around Megatron's back, slick with the humans' blood. They dug into transformation seams, sharp and insistent, and Megatron felt his own energon well up from the scrapes they made.

Megatron kissed Starscream's mouth, hard and full. The hands clutched at his back and Starscream moaned. The blood smeared Megatron's lip plates and he tasted the human tang again. The hints of iron, a faint reminder of Starscream's energon, sent his spark wheeling in his chest.

Starscream worried his lip plates with fangs of his own. Megatron wrenched his mouth away. He couldn’t afford to lose himself in their sting. Not yet.

"What?" Starscream shrieked. "How dare you pull away from me, you rusting oaf!"

Megatron drew his head back. Starscream stared, his optics molten-metal red, his red-stained mouth twisted in a snarl.

Megatron grinned and licked at the blood their kiss had left on his lip plates and chin.

Starscream’s engines roared, but his optics gleamed, fierce and bright. They widened, watching Megatron’s every movement.

“Not so disgusted after all, are you?”

Megatron chuckled and lowered his head to Starscream’s chest. Red stains streaked the clear gold of the cockpit glass. He pressed his mouth to one of them, the strange scent making him giddy.

The blood had come from a vat, yes, and Skywarp’s pranks, not some fierce battle, had stained him with it.

But it smelled like victory. Like pain, and death, and the fear of creatures that shrank from Starscream and could only fall before him. Megatron growled, a long, low roar pulled from deep within his chassis.

He opened his mouth and lapped at it, still growling.

Starscream’s turbines whirled, and beneath their noise Megatron could hear the Seeker’s cooling fans whir on at last. He writhed as Megatron moved, his hands wrapped tight around the big mech’s back, short bursts of hungry static coming from his vocalizer as Megatron traced his way down the glass.

Megatron slid a hand over Starscream’s abdominal plating. The blood smeared over his claws as they traced their way downward, skipping over transformation seams the alien fluid had seeped into.

How long would it take Starscream to clean that out? Megatron chuckled and slipped his hand down to Starscream’s pelvic plating. It was hot under his hands already. Megatron laughed and bit at the glass under his mouth.

It cracked, sharp against his fangs, and Starscream shrieked as they pierced him and thrust his hips hard against Megatron’s palm.

Beneath his hand lay the cover of Starscream’s valve, wet with the aliens’ fluids.

And with Starscream’s lubricant, already leaking out through the seams.

Megatron lifted his head again, lapped one more time at the wounds his fangs had made. The splintered glass was sharp. He felt it sting his tongue and tasted his own energon where the jagged glass had pricked him.

He welcomed it.

He tilted his head up to look down at Starscream. The Seeker had narrowed his optics. They gleamed, slits of eager flame.

Megatron traced the edge of Starscream’s valve cover with one claw, slow as he could stand.

“Open,” he growled, grinning and licking his lip plates again.


End file.
